


Boredom

by nightshiftblues



Series: Professional Life Ruiner Thomas Jefferson [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone deserves better, Infidelity, Jamilton - Freeform, Jealousy, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, except thomas, lams is A Thing here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshiftblues/pseuds/nightshiftblues
Summary: Thomas is a bit old to get possessive over his toys, especially the ones he has outgrown and tossed aside, but it’s not like it’s his fault that Laurens makes it so easy –and fun.In which Hamilton is starting to find happiness and Jefferson is having a slow week at work.





	Boredom

**Author's Note:**

> Woops, here’s more emotionally sadistic Jefferson for ya.
> 
> This one takes place maybe three or four months after Having (naming these two fics has been such A Pain) but I’m not gonna come to your house and force you to read it first if you haven't already.

Thomas makes a face as he catches a glimpse of Hamilton and Laurens walking towards the elevators just as he’s reaching to close the blinds of his office. Apparently they’re openly going around holding hands now. The secretaries must be coming into their panties right about now from excitement.

When Hamilton had shown up to work with Laurens one morning, wearing one of Laurens’ shirts and a red mark just peeking from under its collar it had been the hottest gossip of the office for weeks (many of the ladies in the office happened to be of the Gay Guys Are So Adorable But Also Sinful –variety). The rumors had only grown when this became more and more of a regular happenstance, hell, even _Washington_ had shown his approval of this development by allowing them to slip away for an extended time for lunch with a nod and a knowing smile.

Thomas plops into his office swivel chair. “It was annoying enough when the favourism stemmed from the weird dad complex-thing Hamilton and Washington have going on,” he mutters and spins on his chair. Madison lets out an annoyed grunt when Thomas’ long legs collide with his and scoots further away, clutching his Caesar salad protectively.

“Well, as he has very vocally expressed several times, the accusations of favourism go both ways,” the shorter man offers, clearly reluctant to get roped into yet another ‘Assorted Reasons Why Hamilton Sucks’-conversation even though Thomas is sure he secretly enjoys them just as much.

And it’s not like he’s wrong, Hamilton has more than once brought up the injustice he sees in Jefferson holding a partner position in the company even though he had been away ‘getting high with the French’ back when Washington and a few other name partners had teamed up and left the previous company to form their own. Leave it to Hamilton to not understand delicate matters, such as the fact that one of the key reasons they are prospering now despite of the messy separation process is that Thomas had been making sure that their key clients and shareholders in France would leave the mother company and stay with Washington.

Of course, Hamilton hadn’t been running his mouth initially when Thomas had returned to the States, when he had not only fallen for his nice-act but actually fallen _in love_ with it (the memory still cracks Thomas up). No, the grave injustice he perceived had only been made known to anyone who cared to listen _after_ Thomas had rejected Hamilton’s affections, twice.

“He’s so transparent,” Thomas says to James. “Wouldn’t recognize subtlety if it made him kneel and showed its fingers down his throat.”

James makes a disgusted face at Thomas who grins back. Winding James up is an art form that takes time and dedication to master; good thing he happens to have both.

“Should I let you have the room?” James grunts.

“Don’t you think it’s about time we take our friendship to the next level?”

“You’re disgusting.” James makes a move to stand up and Thomas tugs him back into the chair from his elbow, laughing.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me.”

Madison rolls his eyes and digs into his salad again.

“Let’s go out for lunch tomorrow,” Thomas says to the ceiling. If Hamilton gets the extra break time to make out with his little _boyfriend_ Thomas can have the time to queue in his favorite bagel joint.

“You’re paying,” Madison mutters.

 

++++

 

 _Board meeting, more like_ bored _meeting, cue laughter._ At this point it’s starting to seem like Lee just enjoys making graphs for the sake of making graphs, rather than conveying actual information that anyone cares about. And Madison isn’t there to provide entertainment either because of a conveniently-timed headache.

Thomas rolls his eyes as the man drones on and they land on Hamilton across the table. Laurens turns to whisper something to him and they snicker like a bunch of schoolgirls. Thomas finds himself noting that the laughter somehow complements Hamilton’s dishelmed appearance (loose tie, ink-stained shirt sleeve, messy ponytail), almost makes it seem eccentric rather than just messy and pathetic. Makes him look younger, less worn-out. He doesn’t look Thomas’ way even though he watches them for a minute or so. Laurens does, he realizes from the periphery of his vision, but keeps his eyes fixed on Hamilton.

Now Thomas is a bit too old to get possessive over his toys, especially the ones he has outgrown and tossed aside. He knows this.

With Laurens’ sharp eyes still on him, he gives Alexander a slow, deliberate once over, drags the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and meets Laurens’ furious gaze. His freckled jaw is set in a way that looks almost painful, the grinding of teeth almost audible from across the table. Thomas winks and then turns back towards Lee, not even trying to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching.

Well, it’s not like it’s his fault that Laurens makes it so easy –and fun.

The meeting eventually –mercifully- concludes and Laurens almost knocks his chair over by standing up so abruptly. He grabs Hamilton’s wrist and drags the confused man out of the room with furious determination.

Jefferson regards the wrinkle between Washington’s brows and smiles innocently.

“Young love, eh?”

 

++++

 

Bored again.

It’s barely noon and Thomas is finished writing up the monthly communications report and responded to his emails. Most of the clients he would usually be dealing with have taken their spouses and kids and booked a flight to somewhere warm(er) for the summer. His plate will be more than full as soon as they get back but as of now, work is quiet. Thomas entertains the idea of leaving early, but the dream of being able to afford a yacht by the age of 47 keeps him on the clock.

He looks at yachts online for half an hour or so and gets interrupted by an email from Hamilton, something about his budget proposal for October’s graphic design conference being ‘absurdly over-proportioned, like honestly are you out of your mind?’.

Pouncing on the potential for entertainment, he gets up and heads towards Hamilton’s office. He honors their long-lasting tradition of not knocking, closes the door behind himself and plops down on the chair in front of Hamilton’s desk.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Hamilton mutters.

“Thank you darling, I will,” Thomas chirps, stretches out his legs and props an elbow over the back of the chair. Hamilton turns to glare at him but the distain is somewhat undercut by how his eyes linger where Thomas’ thin dress shirt stretches taunt over his abs due to his lounging posture.

“Did-“ Hamilton stops to clear his throat, “did you want something? Some of us have a real job that we get paid to do.”

Thomas grins at him. “Oh, I want plenty of things.”

Ha! The telltale blush is starting to creep up Hamilton’s neck. _Too easy._

Jefferson waits until the other man’s eyes are fixed on his (it doesn’t take long) before he continues. “My budget proposal, among other things.”

Hamilton exhales and rolls his eyes. “There’s this handy dandy reply-button on emails that I would like to introduce you to.”

Thomas examines a cuticle (he’d need to get his manicure touched up sometime soon) and shrugs. “Maybe I prefer a more intimate setting.”

“My ass.” Hamilton folds his arms and glares but, as expected, fails to resist the urge to engage in debate. “Unless you’re planning on sponsoring our client’s lunch caviar and tips for strippers for the duration of the conference you do not need that much funding.”

“Caviar and strippers, really? Those are the best excessive consumption-things you could think of?”

“Not all of us were born with a silver spoon up our rectum, Jefferson.”

Thomas wants to taunt Hamilton about something else he’d obviously like to have up his rectum but decides he has more class than that.

“Bitch all you want Hamilton, my station in life is one of the reasons I know what I’m talking about when I say I need the full budget. Now, I don’t expect you to understand the complexities of communications and public relations; there’s a reason why Washington keeps you away from the grown up’s table where the rest of us negotiate actual deals while you crunch numbers confined to this office, after all.”

Throwing in the W-bomb was a bit of an overkill, Thomas admits to himself, but the satisfaction of hitting Hamilton right where it hurts when he’s least expecting it is an indulgence that he can rarely deny himself. The way you can practically see the other man’s cutting wit grind into a halt due to the sheer force of humiliation and anger alone is just too good to miss. The last time Thomas got to see it was when he brought up that adorable little love letter in front of their colleagues, and he has been saving that ammunition for a while now.

“All I’m asking is that you let me do my job, as I let you do yours,” he finishes after a sufficient dramatic pause.

Hamilton opens and closes his mouth a few times before words come out. “This- I wouldn’t…”

Thomas inclines his head forward and raises an encouraging eyebrow.

“This, you, sitting here, running your mouth, here, in my office, is not what I would consider ‘letting me do my job’, as you put it.”

“Is it not?” Thomas leans back in the chair and folds his hands behind his head.

“No! Even the way you sit is so God damn…”

Thomas takes the time to look at Hamilton with an unimpressed expression and slowly gets up, walks around Hamilton’s desk, sweeps a stack of papers and pens aside and plops down on the cleared space on the edge of the desk.

“Better?”

Hamilton has to tilt his head back to look at Thomas from his chair, only the length of a step separating them. With the positioning of the lighting in the office, Thomas casts a shadow over him.

“Get off my desk.” Hamilton didn’t intend for his voice to come out so hoarse and small, it shows on his face just like every other little thing.

Thomas leans forward. “Why, would you like to be on it instead?”

And, oh, isn’t it incredible? Really, Thomas should be used to it by now, but he can’t help but marvel at the way Alexander keeps time after time, no matter what Thomas says or does to him, falling under his spell. It’s a corny thought no doubt and yet it’s the only way Thomas can conceptualize the way Alexander is utterly incapable of hiding the want in his eyes, even among the resentment and fluster and fear. It’s there, still, after all these months and Thomas drinks it in with glee.

He lets the moment stretch but decides after awhile that he’ll lose his momentum if he allows Alexander to be the one to break the tension. He raises a hand and lets it hover in front of Hamilton’s face.

“Why, you seem rather strung up Alexander.” Hamilton’s shoulders tense when he tucks a strand of hair behind a pink ear but he doesn’t flinch away. Thomas wets his lips.

“Isn’t Laurens doing enough to relieve your tension?”

As expected, the name of his boyfriend does make Hamilton flinch and he kicks his chair further away, eyes cast downwards.

Thomas stands up, stretches, takes his time as he saunters to the door. “That’s really too bad, you two do make an adorable couple.”

It sounds like something faintly thuds against the door after he closes it but Thomas can’t tell for sure.

 

++++

 

It takes two days for Laurens to catch on.

He bursts into Thomas’ office like a knight in a shining armor ready to defend the honor of a fair maiden he intends to wed, but at least has the sense to shut the door before he starts the confrontation.

“What are you doing?” Laurens hisses.

“Having a snack,” Thomas supplies and licks his spoon for emphasis. “I get snappy if my glucose levels get too low during the day, perhaps you should try it.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“You’re gonna have to be a bit clearer about whether you want me to answer a question you’ve asked me or shut the hell up, dear.”

Laurens rubs at his eyelids with the palms of his hands, takes in a deep breath and starts to pace back and forth. Thomas regards him with barely contained amusement.

“Yeah, sure. Shut up and listen, if we do that we can get through this without me bashing your smug face in, probably,” the shorter man grumbles. Thomas gestures with his spoon in an encouraging manner.

The speech is delivered like Laurens has been practicing it in front of his bathroom mirror, trying to perfect his stern-face for days: “I don’t know what sick enjoyment you get out of harassing Alex and frankly I don’t want to know, but it’s gonna end now. I will respect Alex’s wishes to not report… whatever you’re doing to him to the higher ups, but you can be damn sure I will find a way to make you pay if you don’t back off, right now. For good.”

Now isn’t that an interesting notion? Alexander Hamilton has chosen _not to talk_ about what has transpired between them. Being on the extremely short list of things that that man won’t go on an hour-long tirade about gives Thomas a warm, fuzzy feeling. One that is only amplified by the barely contained _‘what do you have that I don’t?_ ’ in Laurens’ glare. It’s just too good.

Thomas briefly considers proposing a trade for Laurens’ parking spot (it’s closer to the exit) but decides against saying anything that might incriminate him out loud, just in case.

Instead he holds his half-eaten low fat soy yoghurt out to Laurens. “Do you want this?”

“What?”

“Just a friendly offering.” Thomas tilts his head to the side and smiles. “Feel free to help yourself to all of my leftovers.”

Thomas braces himself for impact but instead of the fist he was expecting to connect with his face he gets the yoghurt pint slapped out of his extended hand. It lands on the sofa to his left, contents spilled all over.

“The only person you’re punishing here is the cleaning lady,” he calls after Laurens.

 

++++

 

It starts out as a joke, for real. This time around Thomas did not try to escalate the situation but – well.

It all started when Washington had to miss an important business lunch with a client due to a family situation and told Thomas and Hamilton to go in his stead. Hamilton doesn’t drive because he’s a cheap barefooted New Yorker so of course he doesn’t, and Washington told them to take Thomas’ car and not crash it in traffic while fighting. Hamilton, eager to finally be given a responsibility not normally on his job description put up minimal resistance for once.

Of course that didn’t stop Hamilton from complaining about everything from the air conditioning to the radio station to the route Thomas picked to his driving speed, all the way there and back, probably to make up for the impressed whistle he had let out when he’s seen the red Mercedes Thomas’ dad had gifted him on his 25th birthday. It was insufferable and revenge was entirely warranted.

So as soon as they were parked in the firm’s garage again and Hamilton reached for the handle, Thomas flicked the switch that locks the doors and purred: “What do we say?”

Which brings them here, somehow, with Hamilton straddling Thomas’ lap on the driver’s seat (it’s a very spacious car), and kissing him with the rage of a thousand burning suns.

Thomas leans back and takes it, figures Hamilton deserves it after all the shit he has put him through, and slides his palms over the backs of Hamilton’s thighs, all the way up to the curve of his ass. He grins into the kiss and Hamilton growls with irritation and bites into his lower lip. Thomas tugs the hem of Hamilton’s shirt out of his jeans with ease (it was barely tucked in to begin with), grips his lithe hips and drags his thumbs over the sharp hip bones. A bit of Hamilton’s aggression melts into a low guttural groan.

He pulls back for a breath eventually. The dim, yellow parking garage light frames his face like a halo and leaves his expression mostly into the shadows, but Thomas can just make out the darker tint of his cheeks, the spit glistening on his lips and his blown pupils.

“Sssshit,” Hamilton hisses probably mostly to himself.

“Not really what I was going for but I’m nothing if not flexible,” Thomas drawls.

Hamilton opens his mouth to spit out an insult no doubt but Thomas grabs his tie and pulls the man down to kiss him again. This time around Hamilton is more pliable, apparently resigned to following Thomas down this path he has knocked them on. He lets Thomas lick into his mouth, directs his buzzing energy into his hands instead. They hover for a second and Thomas is pleased to find that he doesn’t even have to tell Hamilton not to touch his hair as the shorter man’s hands end up grabbing at his collar instead.

He hums approvingly and doesn’t miss how Alexander perks up under the positive attention. He wraps an arm around Hamilton’s waist and moves to bite at his jawline despite of the untidy stubble there and the man on top of him starts to squirm. Whether he’s trying to grind against Thomas or to get away or possibly both at the same time is unclear, but based on the hitch in his breath it’s pretty clear which one he wants to do. Thomas chuckles, his breath hot against Alexander’s jugular and licks nice and slow over his Adam’s apple. Alexander is gripping at his shoulders now, and another breathy groan escapes his mouth.

“I- I can’t,” he pants and almost falls backwards against the steering wheel when Thomas rolls his hips upwards.

“And yet, you are,” Thomas points out and twirls the crumpled up tie between his long fingers.

Alexander manages a glare.

“I’m not fucking you in your car, in the firm’s parking garage,” he spits.

Thomas cocks a brow. “But you _are_ fucking me in a motel somewhere, is that it? Getting presumptuous, are we?”

“Oh please,” Hamilton lets out a laugh and grinds his hips down properly now, to accentuate the undeniable interest Thomas’ dick is showing at the situation. “As if you wouldn’t. You know at first I thought I had no impact on you whatsoever, hell, for a moment there I even suspected you might be straight-“ Thomas wrinkles his nose in distain at that bit, “-but you want this too. So I win.”

For a moment there’s only the sound of Alexander’s labored breathing filling the car. Thomas’ lips slowly spread into a grin and he brings a hand up to yank out the hair elastic in Hamilton’s hair. He yelps as a few tangled up hairs go with it but Thomas pays no mind and laces his fingers into the dark brown locks falling freely on Hamilton’s shoulders now.

“Well, in that case congratulations must be in place.” Thomas leans in and Hamilton lets him pull his head back, neck exposed, and Thomas emphasizes his words with teasing kisses and grazes of teeth against the tender flesh. “Although I must say I disagree, I think fucking you in this parking lot would be perfectly appropriate to celebrate this ‘win’ of yours. After all, an audience is ultimately what you always want, isn’t it?”

Thomas pulls back and takes in the view of Hamilton, all pliable and panting on his lap, and then turns to look past his shoulder, to the front and left.

“Speaking of which.”

Hamilton’s body tenses gradually as Thomas’ words sink in. He turns around slowly, as if reluctant to make what is occurring a reality, but eventually he is also looking at Laurens, in his car, squeezing at the steering wheel with white knuckles and a blank expression on his face.

“John...”

Hamilton starts to tuck his shirt back into his pants with shaking hands as if that will undo what has just transpired and Laurens is reaching to start his engine now.

“No, oh God, oh God no, John, please,” Hamilton’s voice is hoarsening in a way that Thomas recognizes by now. He reaches around him to unlock the car doors and lazily yanks the driver side door open. Hamilton scrambles off his lap and ungracefully lands on his hands and knees on the concrete and hauls himself up. He tries to run to Laurens but his car is already speeding out of the garage and Hamilton is left standing there, a hand still outstretched towards the exit. His shoulders are shaking.

Laurens is gone by next Monday and Thomas gets his parking spot. Score.

**Author's Note:**

> So did Thomas just make up his partner so he could make Hamilton cry again or is his ‘beloved’ so inconsequential he doesn’t even spare them a thought? The world may never find out.
> 
> James “Right in front of my salad?” Madison doesn’t even know himself why he puts up with Thomas. (The answer is because Hamilton was right about him in Having.)
> 
> I always try not to care too much about comments but still end up checking them obsessively and crying over every single one of them, so. If you want to make someone super happy with minimal effort here’s yer chance!


End file.
